


Have His Cake And Eat It Too.

by Anonymous



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Far From Home (2019)
Genre: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Drugged Sex, Graphic Rape/Non-Con, I'm Going to Hell, Like straight up sexual assault, M/M, Mysterio is the bad guy, Non-Consensual Touching, Non-Penetrative Sex, Or worst heaven, Rape/Non-con Elements, The train yard fight happened in prague in this because I got 2k in before I realized my mistake, There is a half written part 2 that Im so so on, This is not Happy, Underage Rape/Non-con, he's creepy, heed the warnings, no beta we die like men, that should not be the tag because rape is not sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-23 14:49:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20010079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: It had been hard for Quentin Beck to decide between becoming Peter Parker's next mentor and leading him to his bed. When the fight in the train yard leaves him an injured and vulnerable spider, he can have his cake and eat it too.





	Have His Cake And Eat It Too.

**Author's Note:**

> This came to me and wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it. 
> 
> Also, in this fic the train yard fight happened in Prague, not Berlin. Again, graphic rape/non-con between Mysterio and underaged Peter Parker, proceed with caution.

Quentin had hoped that the train would kill Peter. It would have been a neat and tidy end to the problem.

Instead, Parker was flung to the side, where he landed in a crumpled heap behind the tracks. Once the train had passed, Beck walked over to the prone form. He nudged him with his toe, and Peter moaned softly. Oh.

Beck kneeled down beside him in the course dirt of the train yard and stared at the young, beautiful face beneath him. It had been a hard choice between becoming Peter’s next ill-fated father figure and seducing the boy. In the end, he had mentored him, but times like this, when Peter was maskless and vulnerable made him regret it.

Blood was steadily oozing out of several small cuts on Peter’s face, and no doubt several more hid underneath the stealth suit he wore. He touched Peter’s cheek, and the boy flinched away, his precognition now recognizing him as a threat.

As fascinating as that response was, it no doubt meant Peter was close to consciousness. Beck weighed his options. Should he kill Peter here and now, or should he have his cake and eat it too? Deciding to indulge, he pulled the small vial out of his pocket.

This had been quite the find. While sorting through what he and his cohorts had stolen from Stark Industries, they had found several projects pertaining to Spider-Man, all with infantile names. This one was a scrapped component of a project called ‘Baby Aspirin’ aimed at creating an anesthetic that would work despite Peter’s enhancements. This early iteration had been a failure in Stark’s mind despite its effectiveness. Instead of numbing pain, it should reduce Peter’s strength to well below an unenhanced man and leave him somewhere below his normal mental capacity. The beauty was in that it did not numb or render unconscious. Beck could revel in Peter’s every reaction.

Beck grabbed Peter’s jaw and pulled his mouth open. Peter began to stir and tried to turn his head away, but Beck held firm and poured the small bottle of clear fluid into his mouth.

On instinct, Peter swallowed, and Beck grinned. Now the question was how? He had near-complete control over the injured, weakened boy and could do whatever he pleased with him. Right, Peter had his own hotel room. This would positively break the boy.

———

Beck flew in through the hotel window with Peter in his arms. He still hadn’t awoken but was shifting in the grasp that triggered his sense of danger. 

He deposited Peter on his own hotel bed and again reached into the pockets of his costume. Honestly, Janice had thought of everything. He pulled out the pair of handcuffs he had had a drone steal from a dead police officer during the attack on the festival and leered down at Peter. Oh, the night was just beginning.

Peter lay sprawled on the bed, getting blood and dirt on the nice clean sheets. All the cuts on his face had stopped bleeding, but he still looked like he had been hit by a bus. Or train, in this case.

Beck wasted no time kneeling over Peter and forcing his pliant wrists up to the wrought-iron headboard. He took the handcuffs and looped them through the curl of a steel branch before securing Peter’s wrists with them.

At this, Peter began to wake. It was a slow process, starting with his eyes moving under his lids more rapidly and him making small sounds of pain.

If he made too much sound, then they would be discovered, and the fun would be over. Beck rolled off the bed and spotted Peter’s open suitcase on the floor. He grabbed a pair of balled-up socks and a discarded belt and hurried back to the bed.

Again he climbed upon and straddled Peter. He pulled the boy’s jaw open and shoved the socks in his mouth before looping the belt around his head twice and buckling it to secure the makeshift gag in place.

This degree of manhandling finally woke Peter up the rest of the way. He opened his eyes and looked up at Beck in confusion and then revelation. He shouted and jerked, but his voice was muffled and his hands were caught above him. Peter thrashed, trying to free himself, but his weakened strength did nothing to budge the handcuffs.

Beck pulled his gun out of his disguised holster and pointed it between Peter’s eyes.

Peter froze and stared up at the gun and Beck, eyes wide and full of terror. His throat worked as he tried to swallow around his gag and his flushed skin drew Beck’s eye.

“This is your hotel room, Peter,” Beck explained like he wasn’t staring down at his captive teenager like a starving beast. “Before you get any ideas about screaming, know that I have EDITH monitoring the halls outside, and if anyone tries to come in this room, I will disguise myself as a nondescript masked intruder and I will shoot the first person through that door.”

A frightened sound escaped from Peter’s throat. Ah. So all it took was threatening his friends. Always useful, but Beck wanted to inspire more personal terror in him.

When Beck trailed his gun down Peter’s cheek, the boy flinched away bodily and closed his eyes tightly. He looked like he was praying with his eyes closed and hands together, and such pure desperation on his face. What a fall from grace Beck has taken in his eyes.

Unable to resist any longer, Beck leaned down to press a slow kiss to Peter’s neck.

This drew a muffled sob from Peter, who pulled at the handcuffs above him again unsuccessfully. Oh, he was finally getting the picture. He was such an innocent kid and hadn’t jumped the worst and accurate conclusion until Beck made it horribly and physically clear to him.

Beck groaned and collapsed against Peter, pressing their bodies together. He had hardened on the way here with just the thought of his plans, and now his erection pressed against Peter’s thigh.

Peter squirmed and tried to buck him off, but was unsuccessful in his drugged state. Beck’s hands trailed down his body until he came to the hem of the top of his stealth suit and slipped his hands under the shirt.

The feeling of warm hands on his skin made Peter jump, and he arched his back to get Beck off of him. All that did was press their bodies closer and Beck groaned again. Peter began trying to say something with one syllable over and over behind his gag. Beck wished he could hear if it was ‘no, no, no, no,’ or ‘stop, stop, stop, stop,’ or, even better, ‘please, please, please, please.’

Having had enough of teasing himself, Beck undid the clasp on the pants of his costume.

At this, Peter began to thrash again. He wrenched his unpinned upper body to either side to free himself, but he barely had the strength of a kitten and couldn’t do a thing to help himself. This time, the desperation in Peter’s wide, glassy eyes made it clear that he was begging behind his gag. 

As much as Peter begging him for anything went straight to Beck’s dick, it was too loud. If he continued someone would come to investigate.

Beck slapped Peter across the face, hard. Peter, surprised at the outright violence, froze and stared up at him.

“Shut up,” Beck hissed, keeping his voice low and full of poison as he loomed his face right over Peter’s. “If you bring any of your little friends in here, I’ll kill them. And then their blood will be on your hands.”

Ah, finally. Beck could see tears building in Peter’s red eyes. He chuckled and said, “It’s funny, isn’t it? Help is so close. If you were a normal kid being attacked by some normal rapist—“ Oh Peter’s full-body flinch at the word was decadent. “You could scream and people would come running to save you. It would all be over.”

“But no,” Beck continued, trailing his fingers down Peter’s face, avoiding the fresh tear tracks. “Since you gave me EDITH, if anyone tries to help you I’ll kill them. Isn’t the irony delicious?”

Peter’s torso heaved with his suppressed sobs and Beck reveled in the further psychological damage he was doing. At this rate, Peter would blame himself for all of this if he didn’t already.

Suddenly, Beck grabbed the bottom of Peter’s shirt and forced it up. Again Peter fruitlessly tried to fight, but he could do little to stop him from pulling his shirt up and over his head, leaving the fabric bunched at his trapped elbows.

With Peter’s torso exposed, he could see the myriad of damage that the train and their fight had done to him. There were a few places his skin had split open and mottled bruises throughout that were already beginning to form. If Beck was lucky, the drug would suppress his healing and he would get the see those bruises the whole time.

Beck stared at the pale, heaving expanse of skin beneath him and grinned. All of this was his. He looked up towards Peter’s face and saw that the boy had lifted his head and was staring at him pleadingly. As if mercy could move him. Honestly, the boy should consider himself lucky to not be dead in a ditch right now.

He grabbed Peter’s pants and, shifting his weight off of the boy’s legs, pulled them down. This time he had to fight Peter more since his legs were no longer pinned. But again, his weakened strength and futile kicking did nothing to stop Beck from leaving the clothing beneath his knees. 

More bruises littered Peter’s legs and Beck pressed his thumb sharply into one above his knee. Peter hissed and jerked away, but Beck had sat back on his calves and had him trapped once more. Good, his sensation wasn’t dulled.

This left Peter in only his boxers, and Beck was disappointed to see that he wasn’t even slightly hard. Well, he could change that.

Not bothering to remove the fabric, Beck grabbed Peter through his boxers. Peter jolted and made a pathetic sound, and his muffled crying increased in intensity as he slammed his head back against the bed.

Beck slowly stroked him through the fabric, and despite Peter’s protests, got him half hard. This would just fuck with Peter’s mind even more. How could he enjoy what the bad man was doing to him?

Reaching in his pants, Beck pulled himself out. He cursed himself for not being more prepared since he didn’t have the supplies to do this properly. Oh well, there were other ways of getting two people off, and the boxers would serve as some protection.

Peter trembled beneath him with his eyes squeezed shut tightly. Beck took another moment to revel in the control he had over this beautiful, broken boy. He took in each line of his body and memorized the way his breath caught as he cried freely.

Finally, Beck went in for the main event. He lowered himself so he and Peter’s erections pressed together. He groaned against Peter’s face when he came to rest with their bodies flush against each other. He could feel Peter shaking beneath him and the slickness of his tears between their cheeks.

He began to move, rutting against his captive. Peter sobbed against him as he said, “I’ve been wanting to fuck you ever since I saw that pretty face of yours. It was so hard to choose between being your next mentor and leading you into my bed.”

Beck moved faster, pressing his hand against the headboard to get more leverage.

“I chose mentor, since Stark had left you oh so wanting for guidance,” he grunted. Peter had his eyes squeezed shut and his head turned away, but Beck continued. “But then Fury brought you down into that little lair of his and I started to think I’d made the wrong choice. How could I resist those wide, innocent eyes?”

At this point, the sensation had made Peter fully hard, and Beck moaned into his hair. He moved harder against him and felt the bed shake with his movements. He was so close.

It was his distraction that led to it. If he’d been paying attention, then he’d have seen EDITH’s alert and would have been prepared.

As Beck stilled and stuttered out his release against Peter’s stomach, he missed the sound of the door opening.

“Oh my god!”

Beck looked up and saw Peter’s little friend, Ned, standing in the doorway, looking horrified. He scrambled for the gun on the nightstand and pointed it at the teenager.

Peter shouted for his friend and, just as Beck was about to pull the trigger, shoved his body upward, throwing the shot wide.

The bullet hit the door as Ned screamed and ducked back outside.

“Shit!” Beck shouted. He scrambled up and off of Peter, who stared after Ned, shell-shocked. He shoved himself back into his pants, wincing, and ran to the window. 

Just as he ducked out into the night, he heard a girl’s voice cry, “Peter!”


End file.
